"There is something I must do, there is something I must do." -Kim Novak in Vertigo.
I've always had a paralyzing fear of heights. I mean the kind where, when I get to the third rung on the little step ladder I use for changing the porch light and stuff, my knees lock tight, I shake like an Aspen, my molars start to grind, my vision goes blurry, my palms sweat, I stop breathing, and it takes six strong men and a crow bar to pry the poor light bulb out of my white-knuckled death grip.
So the other day, I was hanging out at the gym with my friend Pam who's a reporter for a local tv station. She started telling me about this feature she'd just filmed on one of those indoor rock climbing gyms in a nearby town. "They have 35 foot walls you can climb, some of them sloped backwards at 45 degrees. There's a even a cave-like thing where you can climb on the ceiling."
"That's so fascinating," I said, endeavoring not to throw up. And here I'd been so proud of Louisiana for not having a single rock, cliff, or mountain to its name, the great state that had the good sense to be huddling on the floor of the Gulf of Mexico when the deadly heights were handed out.
"I bet you'd be really good at rock climbing," Pam speculated with blithering ignorance. "Because you have so much upper body strength."
"Ah well," I sighed. "Too bad I'm so busy these days with hang gliding in the Swiss Alps, motorcycle jumping the Grand Canyon, and breeding water moccasins in the laundry room! No time to take on yet another fun-packed death-wish activity."
"But it doesn't just require ordinary upper body strength," continued Pam who never seems to know when it's a quarter past time to shut up. "For instance, rock climbers need to have really strong finger tips, so they can grip those tiny little hairline crevices."
Strong finger tips? I looked down at my hands. Did I have wimpy little 90-pound weakling fingertips, or would I knock 'em dead at the beach this summer with my bulging pointer pads? I had no idea how to tell.
"And strong feet," said Pam. "They need really strong foot muscles so they can grip those tiny little hairline ledges."
Feet! I confess I have neglected to devote much of my gym time to doing isolation work on my arches. Could it be possible that I have weak feet and weak fingertips? Oh dear me. And wait, is that a challenge I'm sniffing on the fresh spring breeze? "So what is this place called, again?" I asked casually, trying to recall if I'd ever gotten around to signing one of those Living Will things.
Ok, so, yeah. Go ahead and shoot me: I've actually got a call in to the rock climbing gym, asking about beginner classes. I swear I don't know what the hell comes over me sometimes. Anyway, the race is on: will they get back to me before I come to my senses? Will I die of catatonic fright while gripping a tiny hairline crevice two feet off the ground?
Stay tuned. |
Vibrating Liz |
| About the author: |
| Vibrating Liz is an avid writer, dancer, gardener, weight lifter, and cancer survivor who firmly believes that 50 is the new 18. She lives in a small rural village in the quirkiest part of the deep south with an engaging assortment of flora and fauna |
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